Alone or Clone?
by LibertyBelleAnne
Summary: Dean Winchester lives for his family, but all of his family has left him alone and broken. Fate decides to give him a second chance in the form of a little boy with a familiar face.
1. The Will of the Blue Lady

**Disclaimer: Don't own any Winchesters or X5s**

**A/N In Dark Angel the escape happened in 2009 when Ben was about nine or ten. In this story, I changed it to 2005 which is the year Supernatural starts. It will be in January just after Dean's twenty-sixth birthday; months before the events of the pilot episode. Ben is six but more mature and intelligent than ordinary children, because of Manticore.**

**Alone or Clone?**

**Chapter 1: The Will of the Blue Lady**

Dean Winchester ate his pie one-handed as he drove through, the cold ball-sack of nowhere, to get to somewhere else. Somewhere with a pool table to replenish his dwindling funds, women to keep him warm, a fugly to cream and beer to help him forget. Forget that his brother, that he'd raised, hadn't contacted him in years. Forget that his father left soon after and only talked to him long enough to assign him a new hunt. Forget that he was all alone, driving down an empty, frozen highway on his birthday.

"I wish I wasn't alone," Dean whispered, grateful that nobody was around to witness his chick flick moment. Berating himself; he shook his head blaming the cold, his birthday and even the endless lonely road for his moment of weakness. He cranked up the heater and the radio to try and drown out the cold silence that fell over the car, again.

He could feel his eyes glazing over from staring down the forever empty road. He knew he should stop, yet there was no sign of civilization. He figured he could stop anywhere, but he didn't relish the idea of freezing to death on the side of an abandoned road. So he kept driving, hoping to soon find something.

"Shit!" Dean swore as he swerved to avoid hitting a figure in the road. Slamming the Impala into park; he placed his one hand, ready, on the butt of his gun while the other grabbed the flashlight from the jockey box. He cautiously ventured out into the bitter night, to where he'd seen the small shadow, unsure if it was human, animal or supernatural.

His feet crunching in the snow was the only sound that broke the still night air. Following the beam of light across the ground he turned the air blue with his creative cursing. He'd found the only color in this barren wasteland, scarlet. Human footprints, with all ten little toes, painted in red to create an easy path he could follow.

At the end of the trail, he sharply inhaled then his throat tightened, letting no air pass either way. A small body, clad only in a grungy hospital gown, lay huddled in a nest of snow. Dean cleared his throat before crouching next to the still body. Gently he placed his empty gun hand against the top of the shorn head. The boy jerked away, before weakly moving into a defensive stance. He glared at the man. Dean gasped. The same green eyes he saw in the mirror every day shinned back at him.

"I'm not going back," the little boy slurred, "The Blue Lady promised to protect us."

"You don't have to go back to anywhere bad," Dean promised the small emaciated body.

"Manticore was bad," The boy confirmed distractedly as he swayed, blinking owlishly.

"That blue lady sent me to help you," Dean lied, before catching the unconscious little boy, saving him from falling face first into the snow.

He cradled in his arms, the boy that could be his twin two decades earlier. It could be a trick, an illusion, a spell or anything else supernatural. Dean didn't give a damn at that moment. A little boy that could be him, his brother, hell even his son needed him; needed his help. If it turned out to be a trap, well nobody would care if he died anyway.

His new charge never stirred, as he got him stripped, dried, and wrapped in the backseat blanket. Cranking up the heater, he stripped off layers of his own as the car turned stifling. Laying the warming body on the passenger seat he unwrapped his feet from the blanket cocoon. He cleaned and wrapping the tattered soles; surprised to find nothing worse than red or bluish tinted skin. Nothing was black with frostbite.

It was a miracle, that besides the boy's sore feet he was relatively unharmed. There was no telling how long the boy had been alone in the elements with no supplies, protection or even shoes and real clothes. Dean didn't know where Manticore was or how the boy got from there to the middle of nowhere. He did know if he ever figured it out it would be a burning pile of rubble. For a tiny boy, barely old enough to start to school, to flee from it and die rather than go back; it had to be a bad place. He understood the evils of the supernatural but he would never understand mankind's evil.

Pulling the unconscious boy into his warm lap, he added his jacket to the growing pile atop the small form and headed back down the road. He figured traffic laws could be damned, not that there was a cop within a hundred miles to stop him. The boy needed the added warmth. He needed to know he was safe; that he was not alone anymore. As he rubbed the buzzed head, Dean would never admit it but he appreciated the added reassurance of no longer being alone, as well.

As Dean pulled into the rundown parking lot of the first and only motel, in the blink and it's gone town, the clock on the dash read three minutes after midnight. Dean shuffled the limp blanket-clad form securely against his shoulder before he went and purchased a bed for the next few days. With the room key in hand, he shuffled the boy to one arm; he used the other to grab his duffel, containing a change of clothes and his anti-paranormal armory. The barren room in the rat-hole motel was the same as the ones he grew up in. As he laid he precious cargo down on the dusty bedspread it somehow seemed inadequate.

As he secured the room for the night he planned. He needed to hit up a thrift store, the kid needed clothes, shoes, a whole new wardrobe. He also needed to go to the grocery store, stale pie and beer wouldn't work anymore. He also should find some toys. From what he gathered from the boy's sleep talking it sounded like his mini-me grew up in some military cult; he never had anything to call his own. Even he and Sammy had toys, no matter how hard their childhood got.

He collapsed into the lumpy chair feeling overwhelmed as he watched the sleeping figure on the bed wondering how in the hell he got himself into this mess. He couldn't raise a kid on the road, look how he'd turned out growing up in this life. He was the poster child of dysfunctional. He had three hundred dollars to his name. He spends his life hunting down every evil son of a bitch that went bump in the night. How in the hell was he supposed to raise a little kid and keep him safe, healthy and happy? He literally just turned twenty-six yesterday.

He could drop him off at the police station. But they'd send him back to Manticore, the place he was willing to die to escape. Or they'd send him into foster care. It'd been years since he'd aged out of its threatening grasp, but the constant overhanging threat from his youth still caused icy fingers of fear to clench his heart. The boy who looked exactly like him was his responsibility now. He wanted to pray he wouldn't screw up this new member of his family. But there were no angels watching over him. He'd have to do what he always did; try his best to hold together his family. He'd attempt to fix everything and hope it didn't hurt too much when the boy finally leaves him too.


	2. Finding Family

**Disclaimer: Don't own any Winchesters or X5s**

**Alone or Clone?**

**Chapter 2: Finding Family**

Dean woke with a start, not realizing he'd fallen asleep. His neck was stiff and his back ached from sleeping upright. The awful chair had springs digging into his body. Realizing why he slept a few hours in the chair instead of on a lumpy mattress, he glanced towards the empty bed. The boy was gone.

He slumped back into the springs letting them dig deeper into him. He didn't feel them as he went numb with grief. Whether he'd dreamed up the boy or he'd left it didn't really matter. He was truly alone. He dropped his heavy head into his hands and fought against the building tears he hadn't let fall in years. It seemed he was forever doomed to remain alone.

"Is this the good place?" Dean's head jerked up to meet the pale face of his little mirror image. Tear filled eyes meet a matching pair as they both took in their striking similarities. Almost against his will, Dean gave a curt nod, anything had to be better then the hell the boy had come from. The boy cocked his head as if listening and studied him until finally, he nodded as well.

"Sir, you do the will of the Lady. You destroy the anomalies."

"What?" He wanted to reach out and touch the boy to make sure he was real, but he restrained himself to just staring.

"You destroy the anomalies, Sir," The boy repeated reverently holding out a leather-bound book. Dean wanted to simultaneously to grab it possessively and throw it so he'd never have to see it again. Dean knew the darkness that lay in those pages; he'd experienced them and written them all down himself. He did not want his little clone to be tainted by it at a young age as well. His own personal hell in the form of a hunting journal; made to emulate his father's.

"Sir, my name is Ben," The blanket-clad boy introduced as if he would never get over saying his own name aloud.

"Dean," The adult answered in a hoarse but hopeful voice.

"The Blue Lady sent you to save me. So we can serve her by destroying the anomalies. Sir, you're my donor," The boy finished with a smile.

"Ben I…" Dean floundered, not sure what to say.

"Nobody gets punished. Nobody disappears."

"You're right Ben," Dean choked out fighting against his own mental demons.

"The Blue Lady will protect us if we believe in her."

"Angels are watching over you," Dean mumbled remembering something his mother used to tell him as a little boy.

They talked until the sun came up. They'd moved to the table as the little boy tried to explain the Hydra-like super soldier program to the Hunter. In turn, Dean tried to give a glossed over version of the supernatural to his little clone. Once finished they sat in silence studying one another, unsure what to do next.

"I've got to go for supplies," Dean decided suddenly looking around the barren room and poorly clad boy.

"You'll be back?"

"As soon as I can," Dean promised before grabbing the remote and turning on some old family sitcom. He quickly showed Ben how to work the TV. Watching the familiar glazed look Sammy always got watching his favorite show. Dean smirked. It seemed even child super soldiers were glued to the screen.

"If I can't call you Sir, what do I call you?" Ben asked quietly so as not to break the magical spell of a TV family's life; his eyes still glued to the moving pictures.

Dean hesitated at the door, glancing at the TV, before answering, "Dad."


	3. Hunting Anomalies

**Disclaimer: Don't own any Winchesters or X5s**

**Alone or Clone?**

**Chapter 3: Hunting Anomalies**

Dean figured he must be cursed; what were the odds that the small town they stopped in had a job. On the way to the thrift shop, he couldn't help notice the flyers of missing local kids. Discreet questions in the checkout line at the grocery store had led to the conclusion that it had to be something supernatural. He needed to get back to Ben, but first, he needed to find out what he was up against.

He came back from a quick stop at the local library to find his little charge cleaning a shotgun that was bigger then he was. They were both were screwed up it seemed; because he didn't even blink at the kid's gun handling, especially since the boy was doing his task with practiced ease.

"I got a case." He did draw the line at letting a six-year-old go on a hunt. "You're not coming."

"But I know what I'm doing."

"I know you know how to handle guns but you're staying here."

"Killing is what I was created to do"

"No one should be meant to be a killer."

"I was raised to be a soldier."

"So was I."

Stubborn green eyes meet in a battle of wills.

"The Blue Lady sent me to help you hunt anomalies."

"I don't care. You're not coming," Dean ordered.

Dean refreshed Ben on all the supernatural protocol and precautions; starting with salt lines and ending with salt rounds for the shotgun. The boy was clearly still upset about being benched but he absorbed everything like he was born into it. He didn't say much but completed each task asked of him to perfection.

The silent treatment was getting to the older hunter. He finally relented and let the silently fuming boy help him go through his research. The boy was sharp and efficient, like Sammy.

"It's not a Lamia," Ben spoke quietly looking at Dean's papers.

"Why not," Dean sighed, he hated research.

"The climate is wrong for a Mediterranean anomaly. Plus the area was settled by Swiss emigrants. The town is called Bernsville, after Bern, Switzerland."

"So?"

"It's the Kindlifresser or the Child Eater of Bern."

Dean looked back over the papers, "Damn, your right. Good job kid."

Ben gave his doner a shy smile when the man ruffled his hair.

His smile faded as Dean gathered his gear getting ready for the hunt. The hunt he couldn't go on. What if Dean needed him. What if Dean never came back. What if he was left all alone again. He didn't want to be alone again.

He nodded robotically as Dean gave his last orders before he watched the man walk out the door. The sound of the door shutting seemed so final. Dean was leaving and he wasn't coming back.

He paced the room, biting his nails. Disassembled and cleaned the guns. Sharpened the knives. He tried watching the tv but even that couldn't make him feel better. He tried to follow orders and stay in the dingy motel room. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, Dean needed him. He broke the salt line and opened the front door when his body betrayed him. He began to shake uncontrollably. Someone grabbed his arm but he couldn't make his limbs cooperate enough to fight off the foreign grip. They were going to take him to psy-ops. His last conscious thought was that he wanted Dean, then everything went dark.

* * *

Dean had finally tracked the Swiss bastard to the closed bank which featured an unexpected fountain in its small lobby. The green and red asshat was sitting on top of the water spout, digging around in a big bag like a demented Santa Clause. He could hear kids crying and screaming. He pumped the kid eater full of rock salt, watching in satisfaction as he landed in a heap away from his bag.

"Go to hell, fugly Heidi." He set the still form aflame.

He used a blessed silver knife to cut open the bag of kids. Among the snotty faces, he was surprised to recognize one. They disappeared as bag disintegrated around them. He reached into the bag, trying to save them, but they were gone. Ben was gone. Telling himself not to panic he ran back to the Impala. With a squeal of tires, he was headed back to the motel. The Kindlifresser was a smoldering pile of holy water, salt, and ash.

Dean practically rammed open the door praying the myths were right and the bag sent the kids home when the magic broke. His eyes frantically searched the room, noticing the broken salt line. He almost overlooked Ben, who was on the ground, between the bed and wall, convulsing in a seizure. Dean let his gear fall to the floor as he ran to the boy. Dropping to his knees, his hands hovered above the quaking shoulders.

"Ben, it's me," Dean reassured in low voice, "I'm here."

"I'm not going to hurt you," The hunter warned before rolling the boy onto his side.

"Disappear," The boy cried through clenched teeth as his shakes started to dissipate.

"You're not going anywhere," Dean ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, "I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Ben blinked disoriented eyes at him. Before springing away in terror. Hindered by the wall he shrunk into the floral wallpaper as far as he could go.

"Ben. It's Dean."

"Da...Dean! You came back!"

"I told you I would."

"Nobody ever comes back," Ben mumbled, going glassy-eyed again.

"I'll always protect you."

"Dean?" Ben focused again.

"What happened?"

"You were gone so long. So I left to help," Ben spoke softly, "I started shaking and something grabbed me."

"Ben…" Dean sighed unsure what to say.

"I know I disobeyed an order. I wasn't strong enough. I'm ready for my punishment." Ben proceeded to remove his shirt and get into a submissive position, bearing his tiny trembling back for discipline.

Dean wanted to beat someone; beat the ones who hurt and put this fear and submission into his boy. Nobody touched Ben while he had breath in his body.

Ben flinched when he laid a gentle hand on his head. This kid wasn't in Manticore anymore. He wouldn't grow up like Dean. There would be no child soldiers, no blind obedience, and certainly no terror of punishment.

"Nobody gets punished like that here." He whispered fiercely into his boy's ear.

He grabbed the tiny hands in his scarred ones and pulled him off the floor into his arms. He held Ben until his trembling ceased.

Dean warmed a glass of milk up in the microwave. Hoping to soothe the exhausted boy into sleep. After the first tentative sip, the boy gulped down the whole cup. He quickly lost the shocky look, gained back color in his face and his eyes cleared. They both looked at the cup in amazement.

"What was that?" Ben asked with wonder in his voice.

"Just some milk warmed up."

"I like it."

"You can have more," Dean automatically moved back to the mini fridge.

"I can!?"

"Sure, do you want it warm or cold?" Dean made a mental note to keep a jug stocked at all times in case of more seizures. And because Ben seemed to really like it.

"Dad?" Ben called tentatively from the bed. Dean startled, looking up from the contacts in his phone.

"Yeah?" Dean moved over to sit on the bed," I thought you were sleeping."

"What are we going to do now?" Ben slurred around a yawn.

Dean looked back down at his phone, reading the name again, before pressing the send button, "We're gonna go home."


	4. A Good Place

**Disclaimer: Don't own any Winchesters or X5s**

**Alone or Clone?**

**Chapter 4: A Good Place**

The cantankerous old junkyard dog wasn't quite sure what to think of Ben. He smelled mostly like the man he liked. But Dean didn't smell like a cat. He didn't smell like the things his human hunted but he didn't smell natural either. None of the older men seemed to think of him as a threat but the dog wasn't so sure of him yet. So he followed him from a distance. The boy was exploring his new world. Finding escape routes, makeshift weapons, and hidey-holes. He ignored the dog's presence for the most part not sure what to think of him either. He found a warm roof of a mostly intact car and laid back soaking in the rays. He stretched lazily as his thoughts turned to the last few weeks spent in South Dakota. Although he missed his brothers and sisters greatly, it was the happiest he'd ever been.

He felt lost when he first left Manticore. He wandered alone with no direction or purpose. He almost turned back just to have someone tell him what to do again. He'd called out to the Blue Lady to give him a purpose again, and she had sent Dean.

When Ben wasn't getting a lay of his new base of operations he was learning more about his mission objective. Killing Anomalies. He was also learning the new chain of command. Dean said he was his dad which was like his C.O. While Bobby seemed to be the base Commander. But it was different from the life he lived before. There were a lot fewer rules and structure. And no severe punishments. It seemed Dean's sweat tooth was hereditary. Ben started every morning with a bowl of sugary cereal drowned in 2% milk. He then did his lessons, some were mission-related and some of what Dean called normal shit. It was easy and nice. No pressure, no pain and no fear. After lunch, Ben had free time to do what he wanted. Which is how he came to sunbathe in peace and quiet. Quiet except for the dog stalking him. He smiled anticipating another thrilling chase. It had been the ritual of the two as they invaded one another's territory.

Two hunters sat at the kitchen table nursing a beer as they went over new research. But really they were watching two predators stalk each other between the piles of totaled cars. The weak February sunshine did little to warm the yard. Yet the boy refused to stay indoors. Wearing just a light coat, the cold didn't seem to affect him. Not since he miraculously healed from the exposure in Wyoming.

The young boy was moving over and under cars almost faster than the human eye could catch. Ben called it blurring. Since they'd gotten him on Tryptophan, stopping his seizures, Dean's worry that Ben would be at the mercy of monsters again had lessened greatly. Not that the young boy had been allowed on another hunt, much to his quiet displeasure.

The dog eyed the seemingly sleeping little boy before coming cautiously closer. The boy sprang down onto the dog. The two began to playfully wrestle and chase around the yard. When Dean had first arrived the boy and dog had snarled and tried to lash out at one another. Dean's quick mouth stopped any bloodshed and kept Bobby from going for his shotgun. After the older hunter ran every supernatural and possession test he knew, plus a few Dean figured he made up, they were allowed to stay. The temporary truce between Ben and the dog that was in place as they tried to figure out each other was slowly turning into grudging respect.

"Rumsfeld don't usually take to cats," Bobby spoke softly but Ben still heard him with his superior hearing.

"He's not a cat," Dean grumbled. Bobby just gave him a look when Ben had to perform a feat of extraordinary acrobatics to escape from the dog.

"I still can't believe you adopted a Chimera."

"He's not really a Chimera. He's more Captain America than anything."

"I think the cocktail of animal DNA flowing in his veins says different," Bobby waved the hacked military report in the younger hunter's face.

One of the older hunter's hacker contacts had been able to dig up some info into the Manticore project. Ben was part of the X5 series, which meant along with other enhancements the young clone's DNA was spliced with that of a feline. The more they learned the more unbelievable the whole thing sounded to the hunters of the supernatural. Dean wanted to know everything. The only way to fight a monster was to know all its weaknesses. Dean wanted to send Manticore to burn in Hell.

"Monsters I get," Dean sighed, "People are crazy."

The door slammed open as Ben and Rumsfeld ran in, both panting. They collapsed in a pile in front of the fire, quickly falling asleep for an afternoon catnap. It seemed they had finally worked out their differences and were now on friendly terms.

An hour later Ben's head popped up as his sensitive ears picked up the sound of Dean checking guns. He eagerly slipped back into his coat before following the younger hunter outside. He loved doing weapons training with his new dad. It was mostly review for the little boy raised to be a soldier. But Dean had such an unorthodox out of the box type of thinking that made the training seem new. Weapons were used in such unique ways, intended for targets Ben had never dreamed of taking down. His dad always had an encouraging word and proud smile as he ruffled his newly grown hair. The difference between Manticore was stark in his mind. He was a creature of habit, he didn't take change well. He adapted but he struggled to truly live. Dean had saved him, had given him a chance to live. He was learning how to live his new life now, he didn't think he would survive if he lost it.

"Come on Kid. Time to go in," Dean clasped his shoulder pulling him from his thoughts. They created long shadows as they walked towards the house as the sun set behind them.

Dinner was always a lively affair, so different from the ones he used to know, full of loud talking, laughter, and rich foods. The family cleaned up the dishes and leftovers before they found themselves together in the next room to wind down before bed. Bobby would sit at his desk and read dusty old books by the light of the lamp. Dean sprawled out on the ratty old couch to veg out, sorely missing terrible motel late-night television. Ben still unsure of his place would cautiously make his way over to the man who made up his DNA. The boy was never quite sure how it happened but without fail he always found himself draped across the older man's lap. The voice next to his ear lolling him almost into a trance as the older man told him stories of books he'd read or movies he'd seen. Bobby would sometimes snort about them, "Not being kid-friendly."

Dean would huff a laugh saying, "Oh Bobby there all made up. I'm just helping the kid develop his imagination a little."

Ben loved them. They were not real tales but stories people made up. He'd close his eyes and pictured the colorful characters and foreign scenes. When the story ended he didn't open his eyes and kept his breathing even. He felt Dean pick him up gently into his arms. He felt the safest he's ever felt tucked against a normal human's chest. His dad tucked him under his cover before quietly telling him, "Angels are watching over you, Ben."

The scream shattered the night. Still, mostly asleep Dean stumbled into the room knife drawn. No matter that it had happened every night for a week the Hunter rushed into the room every time expecting to see the boy being attacked by some fugly creature.

"They're hurting him," Ben gasped, still not awake. Ben always talked in his sleep.

"Who?"

"The other me," Ben cried but his eyes were still unseeing.

"A shapeshifter?" Dean asked confused.

"No Dad, 494," Ben finally woke up and threw himself into the hunter's arms.

Dean held him tight as he trembled from the effects of his nightmare. He rubbed Ben's back soothingly like he'd done for his own little brother so many times. As he gently tucked the sleeping boy back into bed he couldn't get the number out of his head. They still had Ash looking into things with the Committee and Manticore. Perhaps it was time to narrow the search down a little. He planned to start with the number designation 494.


End file.
